If I Die Young
by Resha04
Summary: Blame no one, hate no one, cry no more after the funeral. Spread my ash at the sea and let me go. Let go and live on. Sequel of Yggdrasil
1. living on

**The sequel of Yggdrasil. Multi-chapters.**

**Warning : mention of past character death and blood. Grammatical errors.**

**Main characters : Italy Veneziano, Italy Romano, hint of Spamano, CanaRoma and EngMano friendship.**

**I do not own Hetalia or HetaOni**

* * *

In today's world meeting, America was being loud and proposing absurd ideas like always. England was baring tooth and fangs with France as usual. Greece was asleep on his seat and Japan was still trying to listen to America as usual. Prussia was sitting in the corner and teasing Hungary like usual. China still sat on a seat in a safe distance from Russia like usual. Germany looked like he was ready to burst, like usual.

And like usual, like always, Italy was smiling through the whole meeting. He laughed once in a while if England and France were being too loud or if America's plan was too ridiculous or if a spine popped on Germany's forehead.

He hummed something about pasta and doodled on his notes, drawing detailed flowers and wide sceneries on the margins and the blank papers.

_2 days after that day, no one had wanted to go back to their respective homes yet. England was silent in his lack of vision. America couldn't stop fiddling with anything that he could salvage from his pockets. China kept Japan close and for once, the latter didn't seem to mind. Korea huddled close to them and they curled into themselves, Japan in the middle. There were still traces of tears on Canada's face, and France had an arm around him, gently squeezing his shoulder. Russia was squished between his sisters, funny, because he was such a big guy. Ukraine had his palm in hers and was tracing circles on it while humming a soft lullaby in Russian. Belarus had his other hand on what looked like a death grip, but no one mentioned how her hand trembled lightly and how her fingers curled up around his almost desperately._

_Spain was silent and alone in the corner, refusing to approach, refusing to let anyone approach, still as a statue. Prussia sat not far from him, knees up to his chest and hand playing with the lighter even though it had long since run out of fuel._

_Germany sat next to Veneziano, not too far, not too close. He didn't hug him, he didn't circle his arm around him, he didn't say anything._

_Italy Veneziano was silent, still, and numb. The fire in his eyes had long since died. He had refused to wash his hands, or change his clothes, or let go of the key._

_He had refused to forgive._

Canada tried to say something, and as always no one seemed to hear him. But he tried again and this time France wasn't the only one turning to his direction. America stopped his rant for a while to listen, and even France and England seemed to cease their bickering.

After the proposal had been said, some other countries began to express their opinions regarding that. America interrupted loudly again and England had deemed it necessary to push some sense into him, and before long it was the same thing happening all over again.

Italy laughed at that and left his doodling.

_2 weeks after that, everyone had headed back to their countries. England's sight was recovering, and they guessed that it might be that they were out of that place, their nation's status was back. They heard America had started sleeping in Canada's place. Ukraine and Belarus each sewn new scarf for Russia despite having just given him one. China refused to let both Japan and Korea back yet, demanding them to stay at his place. Prussia went drinking and knocked himself out every night, something that almost never happened before. Germany took every paperwork available and didn't sleep for those two weeks working on them._

_Spain didn't come out of his house since he came back and he spent almost all of his time in the garden, tending tomatoes and other plants and still hanging around in there even though they had been watered and the soil had been sowed and the fertilizer had been spread._

_Veneziano refused to be called Italy. He swore at his superior when they did and he glared at his fellow nations when it slipped through their tongues. He cleaned himself when he was back, but he didn't do laundry and hung the bloodied clothes inside his wardrobe. He slept on his side of the bed, did his part of the cleaning, wash only his own clothes, and tended only his own plants._

Everyone was relieved when the meeting was over. Russia went over to harass the Baltics and Poland came flying at him with a kick. England gave France one good pull on his mouth before America came and asked him to have dinner together. Canada came to the slightly disarrayed France a moment later and they left together for their hotel. China was having a wrestle with Korea in the latter's attempt to grope him. Japan left with Greece after his siblings made him promise to have a meal with them later. Prussia had Spain in a headlock and dragged him to go drinking with him, Denmark, and Netherlands.

Italy waited for Germany to finish cleaning his paper. He was still smiling lightly, and when the German finally closed his briefcase, he took his arm and demanded for lunch.

_2 months after that, the world meeting was finally held again. Everyone was sullen and no one had really wanted to say anything. It could be said that the meeting passed in an almost complete silence._

_Canada avoided looking at the empty seat across of him completely. England set his now seeing eyes ahead, blankly at the whiteboard, at the statistics and graphs and numbers and the proof that the world was still spinning, would still be spinning._

_Spain's seat was empty._

_Veneziano didn't look at anyone, didn't talk to anyone, even to Germany, or to Canada, or to England, or to Austria and Hungary._

_He still refused to be called Italy._

They left the next day with the morning flight. Japan had politely declined his offer to take him to the airport with his car. Germany looked very pale like always when he stumbled out of the car. The other nations who took the morning flight were already gathered in the airport, chatting and laughing.

Italy saw them all of with a smile, before returning to his car. Outside the airport, he inhaled the air and took in all of the morning activities around him. Looking up at the blue sky, a small smile gracing his lips. It looked like today would be sunny.

_2 years after that, England had started bickering with France again. America had started playing horror video games and dragged Japan to come play with him again. Russia had started to 'be friendly' with the Baltics and gotten into fights with Poland again. China had started to try to sell everything to them again. Prussia had started go drinking with Denmark and Netherlands again. Canada still visited Italy once every few months, his wistful smile and the sorrow in his eyes didn't go away even after two years._

_Germany had started to scold him again._

_Spain had started to smile again._

_Veneziano had finally accepted to be called Italy by his superiors. None of his fellow nations did to him though, and he was thankful._

_Italy had started to try to smile again._

20 years actually meant nothing compared to the decades they had gone through. But that also meant that even after 20 years, the memory, the pain, the sorrow, and the hatred wouldn't completely go away.

Both sides of the bed were now made. The laundry basket was empty since he did laundry this morning. The garden was bursting with every color of tomatoes and carnations and lilies and asters and spices.

The bloodied shirt was still hung inside his wardrobe, now turning brown from all the blood stains, but the red was still fresh in his vision everytime he saw it.

It'd been 20 years but he still refused to forgive.


	2. reincarnation

Italy hummed on his way to the grocery shop, spring in his steps and sunshine in his smile. Today proved to be sunny indeed.

He entered the first grocery shop he saw, the one he had become a loyal customer of even though the only reason he did his groceries there was because it was the first one he saw at the street and it had pleasant workers. The prices weren't too different from the other shops either.

Today was sunny, and the sky was blue, and tomatoes had been harvested. He hummed a tune from so long ago he couldn't remember the whole song as he traced his usual way through the aisles. Pasta and eggs, sugar and salt. Soap and shampoo, detergent and toothpaste.

After making sure that he got everything on his list, Italy made his way toward the cashier. Today's cashier was a young man with a toothy smile and too-long fringe, his eyes bright and friendly behind the dark strands of hair. He counted the total price and helped him set his groceries into paperbags.

Italy thanked him and he was replied with a wide smile and smooth Italian. He couldn't quite recognize the accent, but the sound was pleasant to his ears. He continued his humming as he strolled toward the exit, this time a lullaby, not quite as old but not quite as new either. His hand was close to the handle when the voice with the accent tickled his ears again. It brought him a strange sense of nostalgia, one that he couldn't quite remember, but one he couldn't just push into the back of his mind either.

"Going home, Lovino?"

He didn't turn the handle and the lullaby stopped. It should've been 20 years, but his nose was suddenly filled with the metallic scent and his knees felt wet.

"Yeah. My mom's sick, so I asked manager to cut my shift today. Marcello needs to be fed."

That was why the accent pleased him. That was also why it brought him that ache in his heart, nostalgic and painful, sweet but bitter. It was Sicilian, the one his brother had spoken in for some time during their earlier years.

And the second voice, along with the name, was the one that sent boulder down his chest through his throat. Italy turned around, and suddenly the smell of iron in his nose and the feeling of blood on his knees weren't the only ones choking him.

Because there his brother was, all with his dark hair and his scowl and the slight turn of his lips, all but the color of his eyes and the lack of his curl.

His chest twisted with so much feelings, so much memories, of small hand grasping his and the glare that he knew wasn't really directed at him, of the warmth next to him on the bed and the sound of breath accompanying his in the silence of the night, of red painted bleak wall and dark liquid that in every sense was not water, of fire and hate and betrayal and unfinished apology, and of silent funeral and nameless grave.

His brother seemed to notice him staring and they locked eyes. Instead of hazel golden that reminded him of the sun in their early days, tiny nations with intertwined hands and open hearts, they were olive green, the color of the moss and the color of the leaves in cloudy days that he couldn't remember.

"Can I help you?" He sounded hesitant, nervous almost. He must've stared for some time, but Italy didn't move, didn't take his eyes away from the young man, from his brother.

His brother.

_Liar_

Was this young man his brother?

_I hate you_

Why did he have eyes the color of the moss instead of the sun? Why did he look at him with such confusion?

_You're not my brother. I hate you_

Why didn't he scowl at him, scold him for staring, and flick his forehead like he always did?

_I hate you so much _

And it was too much, too suffocating, the flaring hate and the pain in his chest, he felt his eyes hot.

"Oh, shit! H-hey, is something wrong? Are you okay?!"

Why was his brother there, talking to him with that tone he had everytime he was nervous or panicked or being defensive, the tone that hadn't changed?

_Liar, liar, liar_

_I hate you, you're not my brother_

_I-_

Why was his brother there, still smelling like the sun and soil and fresh tomatoes and gunpowder that he tried so much to hide, even after 20 years?

"Just go back to your cashier, Sergio. Sir, errhh, can you stand?"

_Liar_

_I hate you_

_You're not my brother_

_I hate you so much_

-o-

Romano really didn't have a slightest idea of what he'd done that this happened to him. He was just talking with Sergio, and suddenly this man, a customer, stared at him with an emotion he couldn't name and started crying.

Now he ended up sitting across the customer in the employees common room, feeling so awkward as the man composed himself and wiped his face with a box of tissue he'd offered. If he didn't go home soon, Marcello would starve, and he still needed to buy some cough syrup for his mother. He didn't realize that he was tapping his foot on the floor in his uneasiness.

"Feeling better?" He asked in what he hoped was a friendly tone. The man across him nodded lightly and lifted his head to look at him. He found himself feeling uncomfortable after the gaze and resorted to the only way he knew to act in a situation like this. He frowned.

-o-

Never in his long lifetime Italy questioned God, but now he did. How could God do this to him? Thousands of whys swirling in his head, and he felt such a strong urge to laugh and cry both at the same time.

Because the way this young man looked at him, the way he frowned, the tone of his voice, the way he tapped his foot on the floor, the way he sat straight but lost his posture to a more slouched one in mere moment,

it was his brother sitting in front of him.

He quickly averted his eyes to prevent him from crying again, but now he wasn't sure if looking at his brother would make him cry or laugh hysterically.

The liar he hated so much

his brother

it was hard to distinguish between the two.

Italy bit his lower lip and tried to look at him again. The color of the eyes told him that it wasn't his brother in front of him, but the way he frowned to hide his uneasiness and the defensive, almost challenging look in his eyes told him otherwise.

_How could God do this to me?_

"Sorry that I surprised you like that," His voice felt hollow and his tongue felt dry and bitter when he talked, but he continued. "It's just…" He managed a small smile. That much he could do. Decades of hiding his bleeding heart that still waited for _him_ along with 20 years dulling the pain with the smile, it had done the effect for him.

"It's just…" But even decades of creating and polishing his mask of a smile didn't teach him how to speak his lies properly. Especially when only 20 years had passed.

His brother had been the one who had the talent, to smooth his way out and defend his heart with not only angry mask as his shield, but also the ability to speak lies as his garrison.

"You look like someone I knew."

He wanted to smile at the look of faint surprise on the other's face, but it wasn't his brother and his mind did a harsh reminding on that. The smile faltered before it found its way into his face.

"I see. Well, we _do_ look alike." His brother relaxed a bit and his scowl smoothened. "Even my idiot little brother doesn't look like me that much."

His brother had never been that honest before, especially to a stranger. And for his brother right now, he _was_ a stranger. Faintly, the line was drawn.

"You have a brother?" He wouldn't lie that he wasn't hurt by that. He wouldn't lie that there was a pang of anger inside him, directed to who, he didn't know. For him, the only one he would call _fratello_ was his brother, and as far as he knew, the one his brother would call 'idiot little brother' was him.

Him, and no one else.

The line was drawn longer and etched deeper.

"Yeah," He looked slightly apologetic when he continued. "And I have to be home soon or he won't have lunch. So…"

This wasn't his brother, no matter how he looked so much like him, no matter how just being there in his presence and listening to his voice sent every emotion colliding inside his heart, the person sitting in front of him wasn't his brother.

His brother wouldn't just open up to a stranger. His brother wouldn't look openly apologetic even to a customer if they weren't a girl.

His brother wouldn't-

"It's okay. I'm sorry for having held you here," He tried to sound genuinely apologetic, but his voice was caught in his throat. He needed to leave now, before everything that happened in here left traces in his mind, in his heart, in his memories.

"It's… alright, I guess."

_Would you really let go?_

He had let go of Holy Rome, and the boy never made it back.

He had let go of his brother in that mansion, letting him take his clothes and out of the safe room, letting his fingers slipping from his grasp.

He had let him die a human, and along with it, die a nation.

He had let himself become Italy.

"What's your name?"

The young man, his brother, turned around and looked at him with a slightly flabbergasted look, one that was soon replaced with a wary one. "Excuse me?"

"I'm Feliciano," He managed another smile, one more comforting and slightly more genuine. "Ve… I… just want to be your friend."

"The fuck?" His brother cocked a suspicious eyebrow at him. "You do realize you sound so damn suspicious, right?"

The swearing that rolled out smoothly from his tongue made Italy want to laugh and cry at the same time. "Ve… I do, don't I? But honest, you look like someone I knew. That's why…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence because even he realized he was being selfish and unreasonable.

Grandpa had perished and he had seen wind picked every fleck of his dust and scattered it. Holy Rome never come back, no matter how many centuries he waited and how much tears he shed. What would make his brother any different?

"I really have to go now," His brother's hand was on the door handle, anxious to leave.

"Then…" Italy swallowed, hard and desperate. "If I make myself not suspicious anymore, would it be okay?"

His brother frowned at him, now more than suspicious and edging a bit on disturbed. "What the fuck are you trying to do, actually? If you want to trick me into giving you money or what, it'll be a waste of time because I'm the one doing the part-time job here, and you're the customer."

"No! It's not that! I-I swear," He chewed on his bottom lip, more than a little hurt on the suspicion, but it was reasonable, wasn't it? The person before him was not his brother, thus for him he was a stranger. A stranger who said that he wanted to befriend him out of the blue. "I…"

_Grandpa had his empire crumbled to pieces. Holy Rome had his taken by the enemy. Your brother had his life both as a human and a nation clawed out of him by that thing._

_In the end, they're all the same._

_They are not coming back._

"Well, too bad, sir. But try again next time." His brother stepped out of the room, but not before glancing back at him and murmuring something that almost escaped his ears. "And try better."

The door clicked close and Italy was left alone in the room.

-o-

That night, he sat on his bed with the citizen file on his hand. It wasn't hard to get after he got to know his brother's surname from his co-worker.

Lovino Romano Vargas.

Born March 17 in Palermo from Giorgio Vargas and Angelina Valiente.

The eldest son of 2 children. Older brother of Marcello Vargas.

Moving to Rome with his parents and brother at the age of 10.

In his third year of high school.

His father worked in a car industry while his mother worked as a guide in a tourism agent.

To call it fate, or merely coincidence, or the way the world played around with them, he didn't know. But that night he dreamed of a table with his friends circling it and a scroll passed around. He dreamed of Arthur Kirkland, Alfred F. Jones, Matthew Williams, Francis Bonnefoy, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Kiku Honda, Yao Wang, Ivan Braginski, Ludwig, and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

He dreamed of his brother's handwriting and the name he had spoken out.

_Lovino Vargas_

-o-

When he saw him again 2 days later on his shift, Italy had had enough time to ready his heart and manage a smile, one that wasn't felt like ready to burst into tears at anytime. That was why seeing the incredulous look at his brother's face when he saw him outside the store only made him smile bitterly even when the inside of his ears were screaming at him _it's him it's the liar it's my brother_.

"You again?!" His brother stomped his way to him with a deep scowl on his face. "I thought I chased your ass off the other day!"

"Ve… I'm persistent." He smiled lightly and suppressed a chuckle at his brother's unbelieving snort. "I'll keep coming back until you agree to be my friend."

"What are you? A fucking middle schooler?" His brother crossed his arms on his chest and looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "Not going to lie, but it's silly to befriend someone just because he resembles someone you knew. And I quoted the past tense from you."

Italy almost choked in his laughter. "But for me it's not silly at all," It was more honest than he had expected. "Ve… How about we go to that café over there after your shift's finished?" He raised his hands defensively under the burning suspicious look from his brother and bit back a laugh. "I just want to talk."

Now that he looked at those eyes more closely, they certainly weren't the color of the sun, but even in the dull color of the moss, they reflected the light all in the same way, and the faint similarity made his heart ache more if that was even possible. His brother looked at him with a mixed of scrutinizing and wary look, before finally let out a sigh.

"Fine," He didn't sound as reluctant as he looked. "Only if we sit by the window so if you try to kill me or what, I'll have the entire street aside of the entire café as witnesses."

That made him burst into laughter again, but even though he earned a glare and an angry huff from his brother, he didn't get hit or get yelled at, and a hole inside him that he thought had disappeared as time went by fell open again.

-o-

"So, what do you want to talk about, errhh…"

"Feliciano. Oh, and you haven't told me your name yet."

His brother put his espresso down reluctantly and it took him a moment before replying. "Romano."

"But I heard your co-worker called you Lovino the other day." Italy saw an unnamed expression flickered in those eyes before the other reverted to frowning.

"Why did you ask if you already knew, you dumbass?"

Feliciano smiled sheepishly from the rim of his glass. "Ve… Hearing it straight from the person is different." Romano snorted. "I'm serious though. Which one is your name?"

"Both." He threw his gaze outside the window. His fringe fell and obscured his eyes, making it impossible to see his expression from Feliciano's seat. "Lovino is my first name, and Romano is the middle. But I prefer to be called Romano. Only my family and close friends call me by my first name."

"Why?" He remembered that in that mansion, his brother himself had chosen that name. But this person in front of him refused to be called by it.

_Your brother was Romano. Your brother was Lovino. This person is both, but he rejects his identity as Lovino._

_Would that still make him your brother?_

"No reason. I just hate it." He turned back at him. "Now you know my name. What's next?"

He hadn't really considered that before and now he was at loss of words. "Ve…"

"Are you a regular there? At the store I'm working in." He brightened a little at Romano's attempt of conversation. The other frowned lightly when he nodded. "I've never seen you there before, though maybe that's because I'm a newbie."

"Maybe I come when it's not your shift," He had thought about that before, how they had never crossed path despite him being a regular customer there. Maybe the world indeed was playing with them. "But I'm glad that we finally met."

"Don't flirt with me! I'm not a girl, dammit!" Romano glared at him through the slight flush of his face and kicked his leg under the table when he laughed.

"Vee, I'm not!" Feliciano feigned a pout. "How old are you by the way?"

"Fucking 18," Romano sipped his drink and looked up at him through his fringe. "What about you?"

"21," Nations made a 'default age' years ago when they had started to enter the society to disguise their real identity, though they had never established any relationship with their citizens aside of the ones who knew who they really were. People would start questioning if their friend or their acquaintance or their commandant stayed 20 even after 10 years.

"You sure don't act like a fucking 21," Romano raised a skeptical brow at him. "So, what do you want with me?"

"I told you, I want to be your friend," That wasn't exactly true, but not entirely a lie either. He wanted to know Lovino, Romano, more. But as what, he didn't know.

_You only had one brother._

_He only has one brother._

_He was not him and you're not him._

Silence stretched between them as the other seemed to contemplate his words. Feliciano didn't tear his gaze away even though he was nervous. Both of them held their gazes evenly, but it was more to studying and regarding each other than a challenge.

Feliciano saw his brother, from the long fringe of his dark hair, the knuckles of his hand around the glass, the way his lips were automatically set in a scowl, to the way he looked at him. He had to refrain from biting his lower lip.

Romano retreated first, eventually. "I'm not sure about that."

"Why not?" Feliciano wanted so bad to deny the desperation he felt, but he knew he couldn't from the way his hand tightened around the glass and how his tone had escalated almost to a plea.

_Silly. I thought you hate your brother_

He wouldn't deny that either. Just 20 years wouldn't be enough for him to forgive.

_Then what are you doing now?_

_I don't know_

"Because friends aren't something that's made from only one meeting," Romano's voice was firm and even. He had never known his brother had that kind of determination. Inside his ears, he heard the sound of line being etched deeper until it left a scar. "You can't just know someone's name and age, and then bam, you're friends, yay! It's not how it works, at least for me." He added the last part with a lower voice.

"Then what would it take to be friends with you?"

Romano blinked, seemed to be taken aback by his resolute tone. "Why are you so damn persistent? It's almost creepy, you know."

"I told you that too before." Feliciano didn't falter this time. "You look like someone I knew."

"Just that?"

"Just that."

Romano sighed and put his hand over his face. "I'm talking to an idiot. I have to go home now. My mother's recovering but I still need to do grocery." He rose from his seat and took his coat. Before Feliciano had the chance to say anything, he cut him off. "My treat. You can pay next time."

It wasn't until he was out of the café and of his sight that Feliciano realized what his words meant. And it wasn't until he was home and crashed onto his bed, burying his face into the pillow that the nostalgia came rushing to him like waves.

Lovino, Romano, wasn't his brother. But being with him, talking to him, listening and seeing how he talked back and reacted, it felt like he was there with his brother once more.

He let all the emotions he'd been suppressing during the day out into his pillow until he fell asleep.


	3. fratello

Weeks passed and it became a routine. Three days a week, after Lovino's shift ended, they would go and drink coffee together. Sitting in the same café every time, at the same seat, they talked.

Lovino talked about his parents and brother, about how they moved to Rome looking for a way to support themselves; about the school he attended, and about how the city was different from his hometown. Feliciano tried to talk about as many things and to stay as true as he could. He told him about his grandfather who passed away when he had been a kid, about a relative in Austria who had taken him in, about his German and Japanese friends. He said he worked in a government office.

Lovino didn't tell him more about him and his life, and Feliciano didn't tell him about his brother. There was a gap between them, one that was understandable. He felt that if he didn't tell Lovino about Romano, the distance wouldn't be closed between them. But it had only been 2 months and he didn't want the memory that always came with a metallic scent and red in his vision to resurface, the memory that was so strong it overcame all the good ones, of sunshine and intertwined fingers, of tears and rare honesty, of scowl and swear words.

Maybe one day he would be ready to talk about that again. Maybe one day he would be able to forget. But he wanted to bridge the gap before everything became too far for him to grasp. He took the first step in their fourteenth talk.

He asked for Lovino's cell number. He had thought he would never get one when the darker-haired male stared at him with a frown, his olive eyes calculating. But then he only said, "If only you're a girl, I would fucking be in the Heaven right now, dammit."

Feliciano couldn't help it when he chuckled, not because of the words but of the too familiar tone, and they exchanged cell number.

Maybe it was still too early to say that the distance between them had been closed even by an inch, but it was the first step and he was fine with that.

-o-

The first text message sent between them, surprisingly, came not from him but from Lovino. That day when he was working, nose deep into the mountain of paper, his cell vibrated and Feliciano almost couldn't believe his eyes.

_**sorry to bother you.**_

_**are you free tomorrow?**_

He stared at the message for a while, the inside of his stomach bouncing around, before taking a look at his calendar. Tomorrow wasn't Lovino's shift. What could it possibly be then? His fingers trembled slightly from a pleasant anxiety when he typed the answer.

_**I think so. why?**_

He left his paperwork to stare at the cellphone clutched in his hands, waiting for the reply almost excitedly. The reply didn't come until about 5 minutes later, and during that time his eyes had finished scanning around the room, looking for little bits that had been left when the office was rearranged back then, 2 years after the incident. The wall had been repainted and the unused desk had been moved out, giving him more space to walk around the room in his short break time. The old couch stayed, even though it was in a poor enough condition and the pattern had mostly faded, a proof of his inability to truly forget, no matter how much he wished he could.

The vibration of his cellphone snapped him back to reality and he was grateful for that.

_**my brother's soccer match is tomorrow and I have to go watch because my mom has a job that day. little fucker keeps bugging me that he wants to see you. so if you don't have anything to do, how about going with me to the match?**_

Lovino's little brother. (Not) His brother's little brother.

It should be him.

But it wasn't.

Why was it not?

He bit his lower lip and tried to swallow the jealousy that started to build inside him.

_**sure! you'll pick me up tomorrow?**_

Feliciano was a man that was far from being reasonable most of the time, but now was one of the rare times he actually realized he was. It was funny, really, because it was childish. He knew he acted like a kid who was unwilling to share what was his. He had long since overcame that period so he didn't know what to do when the feeling came again after decades.

_**yeah. just meet me at the store. you know you don't really have to go if you don't want to**_

After all, his brother wasn't his anymore now, was he?

_**it's okay :D I want to! see you tomorrow**_

-o-

Lovino was in his school uniform when he came, his backpack slung over his left shoulder. Feliciano managed a smile that he hoped looked as happy as he wanted it to be.

But he knew that he had failed when Lovino eyed him for a moment that felt too long, not frowning or scowling. He just looked at him with a what seemed like guilt.

"You didn't have to agree if you don't want to," He said with a sigh. "Even to me, that request sounded pretty annoying. You must have a lot to do."

Feliciano shook his head so hard he saw stars for a while. "No, I want to come, really. I want to meet your brother too." He tried to smile reassuringly, and much to his relief this time it came out more genuine. "And I love soccer, ve."

"If you say so," Lovino quirked an eyebrow before turning around on his heels. "The match will start in half an hour. We have to go now if we don't want to be late."

Feliciano let his smile dissipate and walked after him, managing to catch his pace. They didn't talk much during the walk, and when they were inside the bus they didn't get any seat so they settled with being squished by large men with work suit and loud students with sweaty uniform. The cold lump that had been staying inside his chest since the day before seemed to be forgotten for a moment in the uncomfortable position, and Feliciano found himself being comforted by the familiar swearing muttered in a low voice next to him.

Fortunately, the ride was short, and after what felt like agonizing hours, they stepped out of the bus 15 minutes later.

"Fuck those fuckers who can't shut their damn mouth for even a second," Lovino panted and wiped his brow. "I wished I could just stuff their damn mouth with those smelly uniform they're wearing."

Feliciano chuckled and patted his back. "It's all over now, so let's just go, ve. How long do we have before the match starts?" Lovino straightened himself before looking at his watch, and them standing side by side like that, Feliciano realized for the first time that just like his brother, Lovino was slightly taller, even though now he was younger.

"We still have 15 minutes to get a seat and do much more shit. It's just a minor match anyway. Come on."

Just like Lovino had said, the bench weren't even half full when they came. There were several parents shooting pictures of their kids with their cell (to which Lovino rolled his eyes) but mostly just sat on the bench watching their children do warm-up or gather with their team. The darker brunette plopped down on a bench situated in the center and patted the spot next to him. Feliciano sat down and took the time to observe the scene around him, eyes wide with enthusiasm. He always loved soccer match, in school nonetheless. He loved watching young boys and girls run around in the field, breathless but had the spirit of fire, turning the field into their own world. He loved the fact that even in this world reeking with crimes and twisted with unjustness, they were still able to retain their innocence.

"You look like this is your first time going to a match," He turned around and smiled at Lovino's amused expression.

"I've always loved soccer match, ve!"

"Figures," Lovino smirked and turn his gaze to the field. "Guess which one is my idiot little brother. Guess right, and you'll earn a free lunch at my house."

Trying to ignore the sting the nickname brought, Feliciano ran his eyes through the boys huddling in both sides of the field. Since they were gathered in circles, most of them had their backs on him.

"Oh, and you have to guess now. When the match starts, it'll be too easy." Feliciano heard the smirk in his voice and felt a smile threatened to break into his face at the nostalgia. He feigned a pout instead.

"No fair, Romano."

"Then you won't get free lunch," Lovino's smirk turned into a grin at the sight of his dispirited expression. "Though I bet that wouldn't be any problem for you."

"It would," He meant it when he said it, but Lovino only rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to the field. Feliciano narrowed his eyes and tried harder. The match could start in any moment now, and he didn't want to 'lose', no matter how childish that sounded. Because he could easily imagine his brother doing this to mask his true intention: to invite him to lunch. He believed Lovino wasn't any different. But much to his dismay, the whistle was blown and both teams started pouring into the field.

"Guess you lose," He was too busy feeling dejected that he missed the ghost of a teasing smile passing through the darker brunette's face. "Quit looking so fucking gloomy and start watching, you sappy moron." Feliciano had expected a hit that wasn't really meant to his head, but he got a slap on the back instead, with enough force to jolt his shoulders but gentle enough it spread warmth throughout his body and his heart.

As he had thought, when the match started it became easier to track which boy was possibly Lovino's brother. A boy on the offense caught his attention almost immediately. His hair was reddish in the harsh midday sunlight and his eyes were bright lemon green. Despite the difference, his face had the subtle similarity to Lovino's _to his brother_ and it wasn't difficult to get the guess right. But as he watched the little boy, Lovino's _his brother's_ brother, he felt the jealousy, no longer cold deep down in his chest but flaring hot like the blinding sun above, burning the inside of him.

Lovino's _his brother's_ younger brother looked almost nothing like him. His hair was reddish (but then wasn't his like that too?) and the green of his eyes was very different from the olive of Lovino's. When he laughed as they scored the first goal, the stretch of his lips was wide and the curve of his eyebrows was gentle, very unlike his brother, who in the rare moment when he laughed, his mouth didn't open as wide and the curve of his eyes and brows was less relaxed.

As he watched the boy, face gleaming with sweat and hair tossed backward by the wind as he ran, and convinced himself that that boy looked nothing like his brother, he couldn't ignore the small taunting whisper in the back of his mind.

_But then again, doesn't that apply to you too?_

-o-

Feliciano thanked the God that his expression had returned to normal by the time they walked down into the field. Lovino's brother noticed them and waved goodbye to his teammates before jogging to them, his smile was so wide it looked like it could split his face in two (and oh, God knew how much Feliciano wanted that).

"Lovi!" He came to a halt before them, panting slightly. His bright green eyes landed on his brother and the smile turned into a grin. "Did you see that? We won!"

"Stop with that silly nickname, and I know, I watched the entire match, you moron," Lovino frowned and flicked his forehead with his index finger. "You were so high I thought you were going to fucking blow yourself up or something."

"You really can't say something nice for once, can you?" The boy grinned, unperturbed by the treatment. Then his eyes landed on Feliciano, and his face brightened even more. "Oh, hi!"

"Hi!" Feliciano hated to admit that he couldn't force himself to even start hating this kid, no matter how much it hurt to see the words and the actions that were supposed to be reserved only for him was directed at the boy instead. But even so, the white hot jealousy burning inside him was still there. "Nice match, ve! Romano asked me to come watching you. He said you want to see me?"

The boy nodded fervently. "Yep! He told me about meeting a guy who looks so much like him you're like twins. We don't look that much alike, so I want to meet you, and maybe figuring out who you really are," He grinned and dodged another flick to the head from his brother. "Maybe you're our long lost sibling or the kind."

"Ignore that part. He reads too much fantasy," Lovino grumbled, rolling his eyes. "So Feliciano, this is my idiot little brother who spends most of his time kissing the feet of our national team's players in the poster in his room rather than practicing real soccer, Marcello. Marcello, this is Feliciano. Oh, and I still don't know your surname."

Feliciano chuckled lightly at the description and watched as Marcello aimed a kick at Lovino's shin but the older dodged it in time, smirking smugly. "Ve, well, it's not that important."

"It makes you more mysterious," Marcello laughed light-heartedly and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Feliciano. And I don't kiss their feet, I only admire them! You'll come to our place and have lunch, right?"

Feliciano took the outstretched hand in a firm handshake. "I would, but-"

"He lost a bet with me, so he won't," Lovino cut in. He earned a disapproving look from his younger brother and scowled. "What?"

"You're such a kid sometimes," Marcello mumbled and ducked in time for the swat. He turned to Feliciano and grinned to him. "Come with us, Feliciano. Don't listen to my brother." He leaned upward to whisper. "I bet he thinks it will hurt his pride if he says it out loud that he too actually wants you to come with us."

Feliciano only smiled at the words and tried to ignore the aching from the familiarity.

They left the school after Marcello got changed and took another bus. The Vargas' house was located in the more suburban part of the city. It was small and the paint in some places had been peeled off. But it had a nice little yard, with patches filled with flowers, several of which needed weeding, and a makeshift goalpost on the other side with a tattered soccer ball inside. The hinges of the front door made a shrilled squeaking noise when Lovino pushed it open, and they stepped into a narrow hallway with windows on the side, creating squares of light on the floor. Marcello padded into a another hallway while both Lovino and Feliciano entered the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home, or whatever, I don't know what to say to a guest," Lovino remarked absently as he inspected the content of the refrigerator. Feliciano smiled a bit and sat down on a chair near the table, watching Lovino's slightly hunched back. He took the time to inspect the room. The kitchen was small, with the refrigerator in the corner and the sink just across the table. There was a handmade rack for spices nailed to the wall and a dish rack next to the sink. Lovino moved to open the window above the sink and let the breeze blow in, cooling the temperature of the room by a bit. The kitchen was nothing like the one he _they _had, and Feliciano thought as he watched Lovino start preparing lunch, that his brother wasn't supposed to be in this kitchen, with limited space to move around and the refrigerator that wasn't filled full to every inch with ingredients.

"Do you want help?" He swallowed the thought and tried to ask, but Lovino answered him with a shake of his head.

"Nah, it's okay. I like it better when I'm doing this alone," He studied a tomato he picked from the refrigerator before glancing at the him. "Are you okay with pizza? Sicilian pizza, since I don't have any fucking idea how to make that abnormal shit you people of Rome call pizza."

"Yeah, it's okay," Feliciano choked slightly as a lump started forming in his throat. "I'm fine with that." He managed a small smile but the corner of his lips was shaky and the smile was far from assuring. Lovino eyed him for another moment, seemingly unsure, but before he could say anything Marcello came into the room.

"Do you want juice, Feliciano? It's really hot today," He gave him a wide smile and swung the refrigerator door open. "Sorry, our house is small."

"Not at all," Feliciano managed to smile more smoothly this time. "And yes, ve, juice please!"

"Right away!" Marcello made a playful salute and went to take the glass with a carton of juice in one hand. Lovino wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of the juice.

"You still drink that chemical junk,"

"And you still make such a big deal out of it," Marcello shot back lightly, pouring the juice into 2 glasses. "Everyone drink this nowadays, and it's organic!" He pointed the big blue lettering on the carton. Lovino snorted.

"Then you're really a dickhead to believe that poor shit of a lie."

Marcello just laughed lightly at the sharp retort. "The world _is_ a lie, isn't it? We just need to learn to live with it."

"I'm glad you're actually able to learn something useful," Marcello shrugged his sarcasm off with a laugh. He brought the glasses to the table and offered Feliciano one. "What are you making, Lovi?"

"I'm tired of telling you, don't call me that fucking girly nickname." Lovino shot him a glare across his shoulder. "Pizza. Have any problem with it?"

"Nope," Ignoring the first comment, Marcello emptied the content of his glass in few gulps and walked over to the counter, peering at the ingredients scattered across it. "Sicilian? When will you start learning make the Roman one?" He said with a teasing smile.

"Shut up, little fucker," He managed to nudge his little brother away with his elbow while cutting the tomatoes. "I refuse to call that shit pizza."

"You'll never get a job as a cook like this, you know."

"Mind your own business! Who do you think got you that stupid poster when it was sold out everywhere?!"

All the while, Feliciano watched. He watched the brothers' harmless quarrel and Lovino's back moving around the room in fluid and graceful movements _just like his brother_. He had thought that he had already experienced the most painful thing that the world could throw anything at him and he wouldn't really feel anything anymore, but he could feel his heart bled as he watched his brother talked to and teased and got angry at a little brother that wasn't him. No, actually ever since he'd met Lovino, new wounds had started forming and old ones reopening. Yet there he was, unwilling to let go of the young man who he knew wasn't his brother but still stubbornly wanted to believe that he was.

He was so deep in thought that when he blinked back to reality, the meal had been served before him, the smell invaded his nostrils pleasantly. Marcello took a seat across him and Lovino was distributing plates. He eyed him with his olive green eyes when he handed him his plate but didn't say anything. They started to eat after the prayer was said and then the only sound filling the kitchen was the clinking of utensils against the dishes. Marcello tried to fill the silence with light conversation, but Feliciano didn't really pay attention. Because as soon as the warm pizza touched his tongue, everything came rushing into him.

"_Get that thing out of my eyes!"_

"_Ve, fratello, you should try it, just once, please?" Veneziano smiled a bit at the disgusted expression his brother was wearing. He couldn't say that he wasn't hurt by the harsh refusal, but he knew that it was reasonable. And his brother being himself, there was no "nice" word in his dictionary for anything that was influenced by another country._

"_No, fucking no. I don't want to eat anything that has the fucking pervert's smell in it." Romano pushed the plate away, glaring at his brother's smile. "Don't smile, stupid Veneziano."_

"_There's no snail in it, you know."_

"_But it's stuffed with meat!"_

"_Ve…" Veneziano faltered. "But…"_

_Romano sighed in irritation, but when he spoke his tone was softer. "I'll make you another one, a real one." He stood from his seat and with a long stride he was in the kitchen. "Really… If you too start with those bastards influence, who will keep and respect our culture?"_

'_It's you who needs to adapt with the world's situation. This is why your people stay agricultural, and stay poor.' Veneziano bit back the comment. He _was_ a bit angry but it would not justify him if he said the thought out loud. It was a sensitive topic for both of them, and he knew how much Romano would be hurt if he did say that. So he only sighed and chewed his pizza half-heartedly._

_The argument wasn't something new. It happened everytime pizza was served for lunch. Veneziano had started to grow tired of it, but Romano was unrelenting. His brother always had that stubbornness in least expected places._

_Despite had been angry from the moment before, Veneziano couldn't suppress the smile that started to form in his face when his brother put the warm pizza with a loud thunk on the table. "There." He threw himself onto the seat across the northern half and gave him an expecting look. "Let's eat."_

_Even though the argument was getting old and he was getting tired of it, Veneziano never really mind it, because the strong and familiar taste of his brother's cooking, of earth and of salty air and of golden sun, would never grow old and hadn't changed. Just like his brother himself, all stubborn scowl and biting words and hidden kindness, didn't change and would never change._

_He wasn't sure the wide smile blooming on his face was from the thought or from the meal, but when he lifted his face, Romano was smiling too. The proud and satisfied smile that could be mistaken as a smirk, but it held gentleness in it, because he wasn't proud with himself, but of his people and of his land. "How is it?"_

"_It's delicious!" His answer was always the same, his brother's smile which would turn into a smirk was always the same, but he would never want it to change._

"_Heh, you fucking tell me."_

Feliciano wondered why his eyes suddenly felt hot and his vision began to blur. He lowered his head and tried to hold back the sob, but the memory was vivid inside his head, and he found himself sobbing silently. He had cried so much since that day 20 years ago, but he wondered why his tears hadn't dried yet.

"Feliciano?" It was Marcello, worry was clear in his voice. "What's wrong? Is it bad? Do you feel sick?"

"Sorry," He choked, shaking his head and watching the tears glimmering on his lap before soaking his pants. "It's good, it's really good. I'm just…"

Because it _had _changed.

Romano's people were still agricultural, the air in Naples was still salty and smelled of the sea, the pizza from the south still characteristically tasted strong with olive oil, fresh tomatoes, fish, and all kind of spices, but his brother was gone.

It had changed because his brother had been a liar.

There was silence for a moment as he let his tears out freely.

"Do I resemble that person that much?" When Lovino spoke, his voice was soft and he cried harder on the question. "He must be someone really important for you."

"He was," It was all that he managed to say between his sobbing.

"Marcello's out, so cry all you want," He felt Lovino didn't shift on his seat, but he wanted to believe that the warmth and sympathy in his tone was more than enough for now.

* * *

**From this chapter onward, I'll use Lovino to refer in 3rd person to the human who resembles Romano, though Feliciano would still call him Romano.**

**Maybe everyone have already known, but I'll include this note here for anyone who might not know.**The cuisine is different in North Italy and South Italy. North cuisine is influenced by its neighboring countries such as France and Austria and they mostly use butter and meat in the dish. As for the South cuisine, it is simpler and traditional, characterized by its strong flavor and the usage of ingredients such as olive oil, fresh vegetables, and fish. But then again, every region in Italy has their own character of cuisine, and their people have strong sentiment for their region so the competitive feelings is understandable.

**I learn about this from the manga Gunslinger Girl, and I still don't know much about Italy, so if I make a mistake, please do tell me. Constructive criticisms and reviews are much appreciated.**

**Thank you for reading :)**


	4. not anymore

"Is there something bothering you, Veneziano?"

The addressed young man lifted his face from his meal at the question. Across him on the table, a pair of violet eyes were leveled at him, calm and collected. Austria had put his fork and napkin away even though his plate was still half full and folded his palms neatly on the table, waiting.

"What do you mean, Mr. Austria?" Veneziano had to restrain himself from cringing under that gaze. Even though it'd been over a century since he was under the control of the bespectacled nation, old habits die hard. Most of the time when Austria looked at him like that, he felt like he might have done something wrong. The older man sighed quietly.

"You need to stop being like that. You are most certainly not a child anymore."

Veneziano shook his head sheepishly, a small embarrassed smile crept into his face. "Ve, sorry. What is it, Mr. Austria?"

"You were, no, _are_ distracted," The timbre of Austria's voice is smooth and leveled, it always reminded him of graceful fingers on the keys, of music light in the air, of calm water. "It is not usual to see you like this, even though you indeed are distracted most of the times we meet." There was a hint of a smile in his voice, but Austria kept his face neutral.

Veneziano smiled a bit before letting it fade. He twirled the carbonara in his plate absently, trying to rearrange his thoughts. "Ve, well…"

"Is it something you can't tell me?" He didn't know since when, but Austria had become some sort of parental figure to him, despite his strict personality. While being under his control hadn't been an entirely pleasant experience for him, but it hadn't been bad either. The former monarch nation showed kindness from time to time, and it had meant so much for the little Veneziano that had just been separated from his brother at the time and whose land was in chaos because of the internal struggles. That was why he didn't want them to being distant again now that he was independent. Treating him to a meal whenever he came for diplomatic business was one of his way to do so.

"No, I mean it's not like I can't tell, but I just don't know where to start." Veneziano bit his lower lip and huffed lightly, leaving his fork.

"Straight to the point would be a good start," Austria suggested, fixing his glasses. Veneziano hesitated for a moment, contemplating, before finally saying.

"Do you believe in rebirth, Mr. Austria?"

Austria blinked, clearly not expecting the question. But he regained his composure quickly, as expected from him, and contemplated the question for a moment. "I'm afraid not. What does this have to do with your problem?" But it only needed a long, studying look at his face for his former protégée to understand. The calm expression faded into a gloom one, bitter and knowing.

"I met my brother," He didn't need to hold it any longer that Austria had understood. Veneziano hadn't been ready to tell the other nations about this, but Austria was different. For him Austria was like a parent, someone who would understand, someone who could give him explanation, someone who could comfort him in his own way. "And he's… he's human."

"What makes you believe that he's your brother?" Austria's voice was gentle, but his tone was sharp. Veneziano tried not to flinch. He knew he sounded and acted silly, but this was the only explanation, right?

"He looks just like him," He rushed to continue when he saw the older nation opened his mouth to cut him. "He was born in the same date as him, he even has his name, Mr. Austria!"

"And would that indicate that he's your brother?" Austria's gaze hardened. "Thousands of people in this world share the same name. You surely don't need me to tell you that."

"No, this one can't be just a coincidence." He knew what Austria was going to say and continued before he had the chance. "I checked his citizen file. His name is Lovino Romano Vargas. Mr. Austria, he doesn't only have his human name, he also has his name as a nation, even though I know Romano isn't an unusual name for us Italians."

Long silence fell between them as Austria let his words sink in. Veneziano didn't move, stiff like a rock on his place. He was afraid that if he made even one small movement, his belief would waver. After what felt like hours, Austria let out a long, tired sigh. His gaze softened when he lifted his eyes to meet with Veneziano's desperate ones, violet into hazel. "You are not wrong to believe in that, but…" He paused, waiting for any sign that his opinion wasn't wanted, but there was none. To be honest, it was what Veneziano thought he needed, although he was too afraid to ask.

"I believe that he's not your brother, Veneziano." It was one answer that he knew might be true, _was aware that must be true_, but didn't want to accept. Because there was no way there were 2 people in this world who were identical even though they weren't related. Because his brother had been a nation, and nation couldn't really die, right? Prussia, Gilbert, was no longer a nation but he was still there, all in the shadow of his past glory.

_But Grandpa Rome died and didn't come back_

_Holy Rome went to war, perished as a nation, and never came back_

_as for your brother,_

no, he didn't want to hear it.

"If he had died a nation, rebirth might be possible, still unlikely though it was, but…" Austria let the words faded, but Veneziano didn't need him to finish. He knew the continuation, because that was one other thing that had been repeatedly jabbing on his hope, cracking it bit by bit everytime it did.

_he died as a __**human**_

"I know…" He didn't cry this time, but he felt so hollow inside, much more than how he felt when he saw Lovino with Marcello. He didn't see Austria's face, but he could hear the sincerity in his voice when he spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Feliciano."

"Don't-" His breath was caught in his throat when the words clicked inside his head. He clenched his eyes shut but the red invaded the inner side of his eyelids, blooming crimson flowers on the bleak wall and him reflected in the clouds of his brother's hazel eyes. "Don't say that. Don't call me that, please."

"_I'm so sorry, Feliciano."_

"I apologize," Austria had returned to being all formal again, but right now Veneziano couldn't bring himself to really care.

-o-

Marcello's clear green eyes widened when he spotted him outside the school gate, but the wide grin breaking into his face made it clear that he was happy to see him. "Feliciano! Hi!" He skipped toward him and his grin changed into a relieved smile. "You okay now?"

"Yep!" He subtly wondered how it would feel to have a younger brother, maybe one like Marcello, all happiness and energy and the almost mature innocence. The thought about it reminded him of a younger brother he indeed had, with similar lemon green eyes and similar face, one that he so rarely saw because Seborga spent more time with his fellow micronations than in Italy. He idly wondered if there were really humans who looked like them, the personification of nations, in this world. "I want to say sorry for the other day," He clapped his hand in apology and bowed his head slightly, a gesture he learned from Japan. "Sorry that I ruined the lunch, ve."

"Don't worry about it," Marcello's tone was light but his smile was understanding. He didn't shrug Feliciano's apology off and took him seriously, and he was helpless because that meant all the more reason for him not to hate the boy. "You don't have to come all the way here just to apologize. By the way, how did you know my school?"

"I have connections," They both laughed at that. "Ve, let me treat you to something, as an apology for that other day."

"Seriously?!" The lemon green eyes lit up even more. "You don't have to, though."

"I want to, so come on," He turned on his heel and let Marcello fell into steps next to him, the energy of their steps resonated with each other. "What do you want to eat?"

He hadn't expected Marcello to choose gelato out of all possible food, considering it was more of a treat, but the younger boy was so sure about his choice and they found themselves sitting around the fountain in a small public park, licking their cold treat under the blazing summer sun.

"How are you with Lovi?" Marcello asked after a while, glancing up at him through the fringe of his red hair.

"What do you mean?" He blinked his daze away and looked down at him. In that close distance, he could see the brown shade of Marcello's hair under the sun and silently admitted that the boy might not be that different from his brother.

"Lovi isn't really the nicest person to be around," Marcello licked the last of the cream before starting with the cone. "I just want to know how you're sparing with him."

"We're doing good," Feliciano licked his melting gelato more slowly, savoring the cold sensation that soothed his dry throat. "And Romano's a nice friend. I don't have any problem with him."

"Seriously?" Marcello raised a brow teasingly at him. "Don't worry, I won't tell Lovi, so you can be honest, you know."

"No, no, I was serious." Feliciano laughed and unconsciously reached down to ruffle his hair, before realizing that the younger boy might not like that. "Sorry."

"No problem, Lovi does that to me too sometimes," Marcello grinned to him. "So you really were telling the truth? Wow, you must be a saint, Feliciano! My brother tends to piss most of the people off before they decide to be his friends."

Truthfully, he'd expected the words, about how Lovino did the same thing to Marcello as his brother did to him, but it still stung so much, that right now the stranger in his brother's, no, in _Lovino's_ life wasn't Marcello, but him. No matter how he looked, how he talked, the things he liked and how he smiled, Lovino wasn't his brother. He needed to get used to it.

"I… like Romano," He said softly. "He might not be nice all the time, but I'm okay with that. That's just because he doesn't want to look weak in front of other people. I think it's just his way to defend himself." He thought of Spain and suddenly felt a new kind of respect and gratitude towards the nation who'd been able to look past the defense, long before he himself had been, and who'd chosen to love his brother wholly, both the true person inside the shell and the façade he put up to face the rest of the world. "He's a great person inside, I know it."

_And I love you just the way you are, fratello_

Only when the words left his mouth that the waves of regret came, drowning him in years that had passed by without him ever having the chance to say that to his brother. He quickly returned to finishing his gelato to avoid looking at Marcello. He felt that he wouldn't be able to even fake a smile if he did something as much as turning his head. It was just too much for him, the feelings that had been crashing down into his heart and showing no sign to stop soon.

"I know I'm still a kid, but I can tell that you're telling the truth," Marcello hopped onto his feet and twirled around to face him, grinning. "Believe me, even though I said those things just now, I'm glad to hear someone saying that about my brother. I know he's actually a nice person; he just has difficulties to express it. Although at the times we get into a fight, I'm always convinced that he's a jerk." A similar grin came into Feliciano's face before he could suppress it. "So, please be nice with my brother, will you, Feliciano?" There was a gentle glint in his eyes as he said it.

"I wonder which one of you is the older brother?" Marcello laughed at that and skipped backward, still waiting for his answer. "Don't worry, Marcello, I will." He hoped the boy knew that he truly meant it when he said it.

-o-

Dinner as an apology seemed fair, considering he'd practically ruined the mood at lunch the previous days. Feliciano watched with a small smile on his face and a dull throb in his heart as Lovino looked around his living room. His steps were careful and his olive eyes wandered carefully, taking everything in. It was strange to see him like that, the man who looked so much like his brother he had almost convinced himself once again that it was his brother standing there, looking as if he'd never been into his own house. "Take a seat anywhere," He offered, stepping out from the living room and into the kitchen, only separated with a doorframe. "And don't peek," He added teasingly as he slipped the apron on, earning a disbelieving frown from the other.

"Who would want to?" Feliciano caught a glance of the cocking of his eyebrow before Lovino turned around to inspect the paintings on the wall. "So, you paint?"

"Yep," He absently stroked the smooth surface of a tomato, feeling more and more like a stranger from the question. "I like painting. It's fun, and it makes me feel fulfilled, ve."

Lovino hummed in response and for a moment there was no more words exchanged between them. Feliciano immersed himself in the lulling sounds of his kitchen utensils making contact against each other and wondered briefly if he should try and ask Lovino to do this with him, like he and his brother used to do back then. He glanced through his shoulders and saw him moving to the photos on the fireplace rack. Against his will, his mind wandered to a cardboard box carefully tucked behind spare canvases and fading old paintings in the storage, the cardboard box filled with the reminder of the centuries passed, all tears and smiles, loneliness and finding warmth in each other, but also of the red and grey day in the mansion, of the white hot fury boiling inside him and _I won't forgive you I won't forgive you I won't forgive you_.

He left the water to boil and stood next to Lovino, smiling lightly as he noticed the photos the brunette was looking at. "My friends. This one's Ludwig, and this one's Kiku. The one wearing the dress is Feliks. He likes to crossdress." He added with a chuckle at the sight of Lovino's questioning gaze.

"You sure have weird friends," Lovino frowned at the photo with Ludwig. "And your German friend looks like a hunk of potato. Offense intended."

Feliciano choked a laughter, too relieved that at least in that matter, Lovino had the same opinion as his brother. He'd started to doubt what Austria said and what he had convinced himself with difficulty to believe. Maybe Lovino was really his brother. "Don't say that. Ludwig's a good guy."

"I don't like Germans," Lovino snorted. "Just looking at them makes me fucking angry."

"Why?"

"They fucking annoy me, that's all. The water's boiled,"

"Oh, right!" He strode back to the kitchen, his steps a little too quick but he had started thinking of the false hope again, silly, and he didn't care for a moment. As he looked down at the bubbles gurgling on the surface of the water like lava, the familiarity of Lovino's presence and Austria's words kept repeating inside his head, persistent like blood sticking to his fingers and stung like the hot steam the boiling water set off. He clicked the stove off a little too roughly and stood still for a moment, letting the war inside his head rage on before finally it came to a decision and subsided a bit.

It was enough, twenty years of clinging to the feelings his brother's death caused and two months of basking in the aching warmth of his presence, it had to be enough.

The dinner was quick, but relaxed, with them talking about trivial matters such as food, weather, and friends. Lovino had friends, he learned, and Feliciano genuinely felt glad for that. And from how Lovino talked about them, Maria, Alessandro, and Giovanni sounded like nice friends to be with.

After the dishes were washed, Feliciano had no more reason to stall with what he had decided to do, and wondering himself why he was so reluctant to do it, he asked as casually as possible. "Ve, Romano, after your next shift, can we talk about… something?" _Can we talk about you and my brother?_

"Sure, why not," Lovino shrugged and plopped down on the couch, not looking uneasy in the slightest. Feliciano sat down next to him and very subtly inched closer. He sighed in relief inwardly when the other didn't move away.

"My next shift, eh…" Lovino trailed away for a moment, frowning in thought. "I don't think we can talk this week, or the next. I'll be taking much later shift in those times, and after that I have to go straight home. I need to help Marcello with his midterm exam."

"You change shift? Why?"

"My school will have a concert in the parent-teacher conference two weeks after this, something about showing how good the school has educated us and the other bullshits, and I'm a member of the music club, so I have to practice everyday after school starting this week." Masking the slightly guilty expression with a scowl, he added. "So your talk better not be something important because it has to wait."

It was definitely something important and Feliciano would rather tell Lovino as soon as possible before his resolution wavered again, but at the moment he was so excited learning that Lovino played instrument, he didn't paint like Romano but he played instrument and both music and painting were art so it meant one more similarity, one more link to his brother, that he had momentarily forgotten that he shouldn't care anymore. "You play instrument? What do you play?" He bounced lightly on his spot, rocking the couch with each movement and leaning forward in his joy. "I have a friend who plays the piano, and another one who plays guitar! And I think my acquaintance from Norway plays violin, but I'm not so sure, ve. What instrument do you play, Romano?"

Clearly surprised by his reaction, Lovino inched backward and frowned crossly at him. A familiar tint of red dusted the tip of his ears. "W-why are you suddenly so damn happy?! Get away from me!" He shoved Feliciano back down onto the other end of the couch and scooted farther himself, flushing.

Be it Lovino or Romano, they shoved hard. Feliciano was almost gleeful from the fact, if not from the thought of it being slightly not normal, enjoying such harsh gesture. But he shook it off and leapt back onto his previous spot, unperturbed by the treatment. "Ve, so what do you play, Romano?"

"At least sit down properly first, dumbass! You fucking creep me out!" Feliciano obeyed and bounced back onto his bottom, swinging his leg under him on the floor. He smiled expectantly at the taller brunette and Lovino sighed in disbelief.

"I play piano. Satisfied?" He glared at him, but there was no real anger in those eyes. Feliciano's smile widened. "W-what now?!"

"Can I come and see you play? Please please please?" He could guess the answer, but it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"Hell, no!" Lovino leveled him with his most terrifying glare, but Feliciano didn't even flinch. "No! You can't come to the meeting anyway."

"Then at least can I watch you practice?" Italy Veneziano, Feliciano Vargas, was never one to back down. "I promise I won't be a problem."

"No." Lovino deadpanned and leapt onto his feet. "What the hell… I'll go home now."

"Ve… I won't, I won't! So don't go home yet, please?" Feliciano reached for his hand and gave him his most pitiful pleading look. Lovino had long fingers, and the inner of his palm was rough but warm against his softer hand, just like his brother's. But Lovino slipped his hand out and away from his all too soon, and he lamented for the loss of the familiar warmth.

"Okay, okay, stop clinging to me." Submitting to the desperate pleading look on those hazel eyes, Lovino sat back down and grabbed a cushion, setting it on his lap. "But if you bring that up again, I'll go home for real. _Capisci_?"

"_Si_, _si,_ I won't," Feliciano promised, glad of the other's kind act. They didn't talk about that anymore later that evening, but that didn't mean Feliciano had given up about it. Lovino didn't agree of him coming to see him, but if he didn't know, then it wouldn't be a problem, right?

-o-

Germany had said that he made a terrible spy, but Veneziano allowed himself to feel a little proud as he walked through the hallway of the school trying to find the music room. He'd made it into the school without people as much as glancing twice at him. The crowd of students eager to go home had thinned and dissipated not too long ago, and now he could only spot few of them hanging around in the yard and another several in the soccer field, practicing. After strolling through classes and several other rooms, he finally found what he'd been looking for. The music room's door had no window to look inside, so very carefully, Veneziano pushed the door open slightly, just enough for him to get a clear look of half of the room. He could see the teacher in charge was standing in front of the room, his eyes closed behind his glasses and his head nodded with the rhythm of the music. He could also see the students who played violin and clarinet, but given his limited view, no more. Pouting lightly, Veneziano leaned forward slightly, right at the time the teacher spotted him. The bespectacled man gave him a questioning look, and Veneziano quickly smiled and shook his head, wordlessly motioning him to continue.

Clearly unable to ignore him, the teacher told his charges to stop for a break and exited the room. Looking at the redhead before him with a confused, but polite gaze, he said, "May I know who you are, young man? I don't think you are from this school."

"I'm Feliciano. I have a friend here and I came to see him play," Staying young for eternity sure had his props. It didn't arise suspicion in people and he would be believed easily. The teacher's face softened into a smile. "Why don't you come in then? I assure you it won't be a problem. We're practicing for the school's concert and my students need to practice playing in front of audiences."

"Ve, I'd love to, but you see," Feliciano shifted nervously on his feet. "My friend didn't want me to see him. So I have to do this in secret."

The teacher chuckled lightly on his response. "Which one's your friend?"

"Romano. I think he's the one who plays the piano."

The older man hummed in response. "Ah, yes. Not talented, but his dedication is remarkable. Too bad his family can't afford to have him trained by a piano teacher."

It was only then that Feliciano was reminded that Lovino was one of his brother's people. _Their_ people, but one who came from his brother's land, the part of the country where life was more difficult in spite of being the part of a prosperous country. Just like back then, even as Venice and Lombardy and Piedmont flourished, Sicily and Naples and Sardinia were starved and impoverished. He had to restrain from biting his lips. "I see. Do you know him well, sir?"

"Not really," The teacher seemed to be thinking for a moment. "He didn't talk much. Only ask me once if playing piano can earn him money." Noticing the frown that had started to form on the young man's face, he smiled comfortingly. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Realizing that he'd been frowning, Feliciano quickly covered it with a smile. "Ve, yes, I think I will. But please don't tell him I'm here?" The teacher laughed at his beaming face and nodded. "Alright, I won't."

-o-

The practice ended not too long before the sun set. One by one the students put their instruments back into their cases and tidied up a bit before leaving, giving him more than one curious glance as they exited the room. He saw the teacher told Lovino not to go home too late before leaving himself, giving him a smile as he passed him at the door. As the voices from the students dissipated, Feliciano risking a step into the room and quietly tiptoed into a corner. Lovino didn't seem to notice him, frowning with concentration at his music notes. Then he placed his fingers on the key, hesitantly at first, and took a breath.

The music started quick enough, a solo start just like the one he heard before in the practice. But as the music came to the climax, it sounded different and somewhat lacking in his ears, as it was composed to be played in a group. Lovino seemed to notice it too because the light frown that had been inhabiting his face deepened. He finished with a bang of his fingers onto the keys and breathed out, glaring at the music note as if it had done something to offend him.

Not wanting to hide any longer, Feliciano stepped deeper into the room until he came into view, smiling sheepishly at the shocked look on Lovino's face. "Y-you!" He cringed at the yell and braced himself for the physical and verbal wave that would sure to come.

"You motherfucker bastard! Why in God's name are you here?!" Lovino whirled on his seat and gave him the most ferocious glare he'd ever seen, even from his brother. "Oh holy Jesus in heaven, you lied! You little stupid jackass! I should've known I shouldn't believe you!"

"Ve, s-sorry, don't be mad," Raising his hands in defense, Feliciano braced another step into the room, closing on to the piano but stayed in a safe distance out of Lovino's soon-to-come wrath. "I really, really want to see you play, Romano. And you play really well! I-I don't see why you don't want me to see, ve."

Lovino was silent for a moment, clearly trying to retain his anger. Feliciano didn't dare to say anything or move for a moment, trying to look as scared as possible. Eventually, Lovino let out a long sigh. "Okay, guess I overreacted too…" He shot him a sharp glare and Feliciano who'd just felt relieved, yelped and backed away slightly. "But that doesn't mean I forgive you for that, you lying asshole."

"Ve… Why do you against me coming to see you so bad?" Feliciano pulled a vacant chair and seated himself, pouting at the brunette. "Like I said, you play really well. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Lovino huffed and spun around to face the piano again. "Nothing, really. I just don't like it if people know I can play the piano. It's… embarrassing." He shrugged. "I'm not that good at this, so I just don't want people to know."

Feliciano never really come to know the feelings of being embarrassed at himself. He'd never paid real attention to what people might think of him. He lived the way he wanted to, and he was never ashamed of it. Maybe his brother had been like that, but Romano had never been this honest to him, so this was the first time he learned that maybe his brother had had that kind of feeling. "Well, then this is your chance to practice, right? So someday you will have the confidence. And since I've known that you play piano and I honestly don't think you're bad, it's okay for me to watch you play now, isn't it?" He looked at him hopefully. Lovino gave him a long look across his shoulder before rolling his eyes and returning to the piano. "Whatever suits you."

Feliciano beamed at him. "_Grazie_, ve! So are you going to continue practice now? Because I really, really want to hear you play again. Another music would be better, though."

"Don't need you to tell me, dumbass," Lovino grumbled and started shuffling through his music notes. "I need to practice the new song too. The one I've been playing for practice is getting old." He pulled out one and smoothed it out before setting it on the music shelf.

Just like before, he started hesitantly, slowly building more confidence as the music strolled forward. The piece was calm, but not to the point of mellow, and in certain points it built up strength. It reminded Feliciano of the house they had back then several years after the unification. The house stood near the sea, its windows opening up to the sandy beach and rocky cliffs. It reminded him of their potted plants hung on the porch and of the sea breeze fluttering the curtain as if dancing with it. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, piecing together the faint images in his head until it formed a vivid one. He tried to picture his brother, but it was harder, and before he was able to, the music faded into an end. He opened his eyes and breathed out in disappointment, hoping that it went unnoticed.

"It was beautiful," He said after a moment as a genuine smile lit up his face. "What's the song called? Is this your first time playing it?"

"Aria. Giovanni Allevi was the one who composed it. And no, I've been practicing this for… what, two weeks?"

"I'll make sure I look for it," Feliciano breathed out another sigh. "It's beautiful. It reminds me of my old house somehow." He leaned forward and gave Lovino a poke on his back, smiling gently. "And honest, you played it really well."

He could see the blush forming on Lovino's face and the brunette didn't say anything for a moment. Then he turned around on his stool to face him, the shade of red was still present on his face. Feliciano repressed a chuckle at the sight. "You better stop with it, dumbass."

"With what?"

"Sugar-coated words," He blushed again and looked away. "It's just sounded… gross, and I might start believing it."

"I didn't sugar-coat it," Feliciano replied hastily, feeling his heart tightened at the sight he was so familiar of and words he'd been trying for years to convince as not true. "I really meant it when I said it. I like hearing you play."

Lovino blushed another shade darker and ducked his head to hide it, grumbling profanities under his breath. Feliciano smiled wistfully but didn't say anything, and they stayed in a companionable silence for a while.

"It's my brother." It slipped out of his tongue like breeze slipping through the opened window, lightly, harmlessly, weightlessly. He shifted his gaze from the darkening sky outside to Lovino's questioning olive eyes. "The one who looked like you, it's my brother."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" Lovino leaned back slightly to prop his back against the piano's front, holding his gaze evenly. There was no detectable emotions in those eyes and his tone was slow and patient. "I kind of figured it out, the one who looked like me. Because who else would have such similar physical appearance except brothers?"

Feliciano chuckled dryly. He knew that Lovino must've figured it out somehow, only really ignorant or blind people wouldn't. "Yup. My older twin brother. I don't bring a picture of him, but he really looked like you, except the color of his eyes."

Lovino hummed quietly in response and an uncomfortable moment of silence passed between them, cut short by the brunette's words. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why did it take you this long to tell me that?" Feliciano blinked, didn't quite expect the question. "You could've told me back then when we first met," The last of the light outside filtering in through the glass window was reflected in his eyes, glazing it like it was polished. "Why now?"

"Because I was afraid that I might get close to you, more than I wanted," The thoughts and feelings that'd been inhabiting his heart those past two months rolled out through his tongue, unhindered like water flowing in the river, like blood in veins. "I didn't know whether or not I want to be close to you, and my head's been in a mess. I didn't even know what I want. I'm scared that you might not be my brother and I got it all wrong and…" He sighed and put his face in his hands. "I'm confused. That's why. And…"

He rubbed his eyes as tears threatened to fall. He didn't want to cry again. He'd done enough crying for his brother. "And I'm scared that once you know, you'll leave because I only see you as a replacement fot my brother."

There was yet another silence following his statement, a suffocating one it was. He didn't dare to lift his face, he didn't dare to look at Lovino. He'd known since the first time they met that he could never look at Lovino without thinking of Romano, but the guilt was overpowered by a desire to get his brother back. It never made sense to him, because he hated his brother, but he missed him all the same. He claimed he was not his brother anymore, but grieved for him.

"Why do you think of me as your brother?" Lovino's voice was quiet and Feliciano mustered the courage to look up. It was definitely an angry scowl that he wore, but his voice was strangely leveled. "Dead people won't come back. And if I guess right and you're a Catholic, reincarnation is not something we believe in."

"I know, but-" _it's different for me and fratello, for beings like us. _ He bit his lip, not wanting to risk saying anything more. "I was really mad at him, hated him even, but," He buried his face in his hands again, suddenly feeling tired. Tired of fighting with his own thoughts. Tired of searching for his brother in this man. And maybe tired of hating and not forgiving. He hadn't realized that 20 years were enough to melt all those hatred because it all came back to one simple and genuine feeling. "I missed him so much."

"I can see that," Lovino's voice was gentler, and a tear did escape Feliciano's eyes this time. "But you didn't answer my question. Is it only because I look so much like him? "

"Not just that," He croaked, clenching his eyes shut and picturing everything that he had taken for granted before 20 years ago. "The way you talk, the way you smile, your opinions and even your habits, they are all the same."

Lovino was quiet for a moment before letting out a shaky chuckle, the anger that had previously occupied his face had dissipated. "This is just like those cheap movies. Don't tell me we even share a same name." He said the last part in a dry teasing tone, but his tone dropped at the sight of Feliciano's nodding.

"His name was Romano." Feliciano smiled ruefully at Lovino's gaping face. "Yes, you do have a same name."

"What the fucking hell…" Breathing out, Lovino stared at him incredulously, as if hoping that it was some kind of joke. "This is…" He groaned and ran his hand through his hair, seemingly to try to calm himself down. Feliciano didn't say another word, his eyes fixed on his lap. He had expected Lovino to walk out on him, to not continuing their so-called friendship. After all, it was him who had ruined it from the start. He might never really had the wish to befriend Lovino. It was too late for him to realize that he too was a liar.

"You know that your reason to 'befriend' me is entirely selfish, right?" He nodded without lifting his head, knowing and dreading for what might come. "But I'm also an idiot because you've mentioned it in our fucking first meeting and I still hang around with you." He heard a heavy sigh and the creaking of the stool against the floor. The apology was close on the tip of his tongue, but he knew that it wouldn't fix anything. It would only irritate Lovino more and honestly, he couldn't think of any reason why Lovino would want to accept it.

"You know, normally I would be throwing things at you for this, but what the hell… I don't know why I can't really get mad at you for this." He felt Lovino rise from his seat and risked lifting his face. The brunette was scowling at him, but there wasn't quite the fire in his eyes. He just looked sour and a bit angry, no fury, no betrayal. He shook his head and headed to the door, but not before saying, "I need to concentrate for the concert and Marcello's midterms, and God fucking knows that I need to think about this. So don't meet me or text me for this one month." He reached for the handle and added more quietly. "You can do that, right?"

Feliciano nodded wordlessly but he knew that Lovino knew, and maybe it was just his imagination, but Lovino nodded very lightly back before exiting the room.

* * *

**So very terribly sorry for this terribly late update (I know I said 'terribly' twice). I have no excuse.  
**

**A little side note that I did just for fun : the names I used for Lovino's friends were taken from other sources. Alessandro of Alessandro Ricci from Gunslinger Girl. Maria of Maria di Angelo from Percy Jackson series. Giovanni from The Night of the Galactic Railroad. :p**

**About the song mentioned here, **Aria**, I'm not sure if Giovanni Allevi composed it or played it. I apologize if I was mistaken. And the song does make me picturing a house on the cliff of a beach, all peaceful and sounds of the waves and potted plants.**

**I apologize for any mistakes I might have made, for terrible grammar, and also for possible OOC-ness and how emotionally messy this chapter is. Your constructive critics are always welcomed.**

**Thank you very much for reading, for reviewing, and for bearing with me and this fic. You readers are the one who give this fic the value it has now :')**


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